The Ersatz Ghost Girl
by FantasyCafe
Summary: The GIW create a machine that slowly but surely, throws Sam Manson's seemingly normal life into a downward spiral of supernatural villains, urban myths/legends and chaotic evil. Forced to team up with a rich ghost hunting teen with issues, and a tech-obsessed best friend, Sam is now the only barrier between the living, and the dead. (my take on the halfa!sam universe)
1. Chapter 1 - That Ghost Thing You Do

_**A.N**_ _: Hello everybody! Welcome to one of my brand-new fic series for Danny Phantom! I haven_ _'_ _t written for Danny Phantom in a loooonggggg time. All I do is creep it on Tumblr, read fanfics about it, watch it on repeat from my DVD complete series copy, make ships and new villains for it, but I never actually got around to uploading any new fanfics on it. Tragic. I know._

 _I_ _'_ _m so excited to share this side with you! Because ever since I became a part of this fandom back when DP first aired, I loved the idea of Sam having or obtaining ghost powers or becoming a halfa herself, and in fact it wasn_ _'_ _t until recently I was creeping around Tumblr that everyone_ _'_ _s love of the au trio made me show my love for it too. So, this is my take and idea on Sam being the half ghost._

 **...**

 _ **The Ersatz Ghost Girl**_

 _Chapter 1_ \- That ghost thing you do

 **...**

The night before, she dozed off around six and slept for hours. She dreamed spiders has swarmed all over her. Running across her face and body, never biting, merely scurrying. Finally, there came a time where there were so many spiders, she was lost in a sea of black bodies.

None could identify her. Webs littered her face, her eyelids, her lashes. Webs lay strewn from her clothes and her limbs.

She was a living corpse.

The dream was intense. Harsh. Nothing like it had ever happened in her sleep before. Even daydreams tended to linger away from the creepy side of things. The dream stuck in her mind for weeks. Consuming her and reminding her day by day, that she was paralyzed. Dead.

Which, ironically, was the theme of tonight's adventure.

She had called up Tucker to meet her in the graveyard by ten, just in case the groundskeeper was still meandering about before his break, but he was nowhere to be seen and she was alone.

Her heart pounded almost painfully in her chest, clutching her flashlight and darting her eyes back and forth over the gravestones.

It was one thing to be here during the day and a whole completely other thing to be here at night. By herself. Where anything-

"Sam" a hand grabbed her shoulder and she released a scream that should have shook the dead out of their slumber.

Sam jumped five feet and flattened to the earth before a grave that read "Martha" – 'always missed, never far'.

Wiping dirt from her new boots, she glowered as Tucker slapped his knee and guffawed at her moment of weakness.

The tech obsessed boy wiped at imaginary tears as he calmed himself, his own arms full of cell phones and other devices Sam couldn't, and really didn't want to, recognize.

Sometimes she couldn't remember how their relationship had lasted so many years, other than their love of Nasty Burger, they truly had little in common. Yet here they were again, in a cemetery, ready to finish what they started.

"Have you been waiting long?" Tucker set his supplies down, grabbing his glasses and wiping some dust off with the edge of his bright yellow shirt.

Sam shook her head, opening her new backpack to retrieve her water bottle and gulp down a mouthful. After the nightmare, she had shoved her purple spider bag far back into her closet, and opted for a regular, black bag instead. Just for a little while. Just until her heart stopped racing as she slept in her bed. Webs littering her blanket.

"Just twenty minutes, nothing crucial. You have everything?"

Tucker nodded to his supplies, grabbing his pencil case from his bag, sorting out some small brushes and shading utensils.

"Everything." He affirmed, "and can we please be quick this time, I don't want to spend too long out here." The dark-haired boy shuddered, "with dead people."

Sam smirked, "you're the one who wanted to draw the headers for the art project, you're not backing out on me now are you? We'll both get an 'F' otherwise."

"I didn't think it'd take this long" Tucker murmured, "I had to back out of mom's meatloaf leftovers just to make it out here on time."

Sam rolled her eyes, "how will you ever survive?"

"Right?!"

Sam ignored him in favor of grabbing her pencil and sketch pad, looking back at the gravestone she had face planted next to. This one was a bit too plain for her liking and she moved to the next one.

A twig snapped loudly.

Tucker froze and turned about, heart racing as he looked for the cause.

Nothing. Silence.

"S-s-Sam" Tucker stuttered, heart pounding and hands shaking a bit as he looked around the dead silence of the cemetery. He clutched his PDA to his chest as Sam looked back.

"What Tuck? I'm not doing all the work, come on its late, get going."

Tucker's mouth dropped as he stared at the eyes peeking from behind Sam's head.

"S-s-Sam" he managed again, "b-b-behi-"

Sam turned just in time to shriek as a figure stepped out and grabbed her shoulders.

"What are you doing here" it snarled, "how did you get past the gate?"

Sam gaped as Tucker freaked behind her, he ran forward, kicked the figure as hard as he could, and grabbed Sam's arm and tugged on her.

"COME ON! LET'S GO SAM!" Tucker yanked frantically as the girl stood frozen in terror.

Finally, Tucker pulled her back and they started off in a dead run, the figure chasing them, running, always close, the breathing harsh and brutal.

"My stuff!" Sam screamed, "the project Tucker!"

"Forget it!" Tucker yelled, sweating and panting and regretting the milkshake he had had for breakfast, "it's our lives or a stupid art grade!"

Their feet pounded the ground, but as they spied the graves large iron gate they saw the lock. Chained multiple times and fastened shut.

Tucker screamed in outrage, "this wasn't here before! What do we do?!"

Sam turned back at the crunching sounds, gasps hitting her at the sound of the creature closing in.

"We'll have to climb it!" Sam locked her fingers and crouched on the ground, gesturing to Tucker to step in so she could hoist him over.

"Hurry!" As the footsteps grew louder behind them.

Adrenaline had Tucker step on her intertwined hands. Sam hefted once, and regretted her stance instantly as she pulled a muscle in her back. Tucker grasped for the top of the gate, and hefted himself over, sitting properly he made to lean over and reach his hand out back to Sam.

Sam groaned in pain as she rested on the ground, "you are never eating pizza ever again."

"Come on Sam!" Tucker shouted as he wriggled his fingers at her.

Sam tried to stand but her back locked in protest, and before she could jump or do anything, the figure was upon her, grabbing her shoulders and making her release a high-pitched scream.

You're not allowed in here" the figure bellowed, "let them sleep" he snarled again, shaking Sam aggressively.

Sam screamed again, but suddenly Tucker was grasping her shirt and pulling her up, embarrassingly enough flashing her lacy black sports bra, but before she could cover herself the two fell over the other side of the gate, and Tucker had them on a dead set run once more.

"ROTTEN KIDS! LET THEM SLEEP, DON'T BE HERE, DON'T DISTURB THE DEAD!"

The screams followed them as the two teens ran off, yelling and gasping themselves.

"YOU'RE NOT DEAD YET, DON'T DISTURB THE DEAD!"

Tucker and Sam didn't look back once, and the graveyard slowly faded out of sight, until it was nothing but a dot, and still the kids kept running.

Running, running, running.

.

.

Sam dropped onto the steps of Tucker's house, her body quaking with the force of her moments. She panted, coated in a fine sheet of sweat, her hair in tangles.

Tucker wasn't faring much better as he collapsed beside her, eyes ever present on the street where they came running from.

Nothing made a peep over the two teens exhaustion, their hearts racing and gasps for breath the only sounds in the dead of the night.

"Tha- what" Tucker gasped, his hands clenching the stone steps to his front door.

Sam rubbed at the tender spot in her back, eyes slightly clenched with fatigue and pain.

"What was that?!" Tucker questioned.

"Your guess" Sam panted, "is as good as mine."

They stayed there for another half hour, making sure nothing had followed them, Sam's body protesting even the thought of getting up.

Finally, she knew she couldn't sit any longer, her grandmother would be wondering where she was and what was happening. Ida always stayed up longer when Sam was out. Tucker also had to get in the house at some point, his makeshift body pillow and voice recording snores would only fool for so long.

Tucker was willing to walk Sam home but Sam denied the idea. She was fine. Really.

They bid each other goodnight and only as she was walking off did Sam remember with a light groan that all their supplies and stuff were strewn about the graveyard.

There was no way she was going back tonight, she thought, as she walked up her house steps, maybe when daylight broke out tomorrow. Maybe.

Grandma had fallen asleep was the first thing Sam noticed as she stepped quietly into the dark house. Only a small reading lamp had been lit, illuminating Ida's face, peaceful in its sleeping position.

Sam folded out a blanket over her Grandma and kissed the top of her hair. Ida didn't make a peep so Sam crept up the stairs to her bedroom. She passed her parents room as slowly as humanly possible, letting the door creak open, taking a moment to wince, but when no repercussion followed she slid into her darkened bedroom and flicked the light switch on.

The room took a moment to come to full brightness and when it did, Sam made for her vanity.

It was covered in decor and small bobbles, a signed photo of Nine Inch Nails greeted her and she dropped in her seat.

Sam's entire face flushed as she realized her shirt had never gone down all the way after the whole graveyard fiasco. Her black lacy sports bra peeked back at her and she frowned as she peeled her shirt off.

There was a bruise on her right side forming from where she hit the ground.

Tucker hadn't said anything, but he was probably saving her face.

Her small chest stared back at her. Her skin pale and tight. She brushed the tangles out of her hair with as little movement as possible, setting her comb down to take her bra off along with her pants. Slipping on her favorite purple nightgown, she removed her makeup and slid into her queen-sized bed, pulling the covers over her head.

Her harsh breathing filled the room, moving the blanket up and down, and Sam closed her eyes as her back twitched painfully with every breath. She was never lifting Tucker for any purpose, ever again. This might need some massage therapy at the least.

She reopened her eyes and stared up at the transparency of her blanket, remembering she hadn't turned the light off, but soon exhaustion and the intensity of the night caught up with her, and she let her eyes close, and soon sleep entrapped her, and she didn't wake again until morning.

.

.

It had been a good couple of weeks since Sam had had as restful a sleep as this one. She awoke to birds chirping, but no sun, as her heavy duty black curtains kept her room nice and dark.

Her eyes cracked open and for once she realized she hadn't thought at all of the crazy dream she had the night before. It was a bit unnerving, but welcoming at the very least.

Sam ripped the blanket from her body and stretched, bones popping, muscles groaning in protest, her back pinched and she collapsed in a fit of pain. Her toes dug into the comforter and she took time to writhe as she clutched at her pillows.

Thankfully, the spasm paused, and Sam noted to never stretch that way again until she fixed her back issue.

From outside her door, she could hear the radio on, her mother probably up and cooking breakfast, her father most likely in his study. The two were early risers no matter the occasion. They didn't believe in sleeping in, and whenever Sam or her grandmother tried to sleep in, they bustled into the room, ripping the curtains open and shrieking about sunshine.

The dresser was left open, and Sam picked out her undergarments for the day. A purple set with tiny lavender bows in the middle of each. She brushed out her hair, pinning it into her trademark half pony, and moved to her closet for her outfit.

The door was firmly shut, just like she left it, and when she creaked it open, her eyes spotted one of the legs of her spider backpack staring at her. She shuddered, ripping out a t-shirt, hoodie and a pair of black pants before shutting the door and moving back to her bed.

After she got dressed, Sam settled some mascara to her eyes and swiped purple lipstick to her lips, rubbing them together to set it in before she went to get her bag.

Realization soon dawned that she had left the new one at the gravesite. A $50 bag laid out in the dirt of a bunch of dead guys. Great. What a week.

Clamoring down the stairs, she slipped on her house slippers and made her way into the kitchen. Ida was relaxing at the table, enjoying breakfast and chatting to Sam's father.

Her father had his head buried in the morning newspaper, a steaming cup of coffee clutched in his hand and his usual sweater vest combo in bright pastels burning her retinas. Sam sat across from him as her mother skipped joyfully into the room.

"Isn't it a beautiful day?!" She cooed, moving stray red hair curls back into place, setting a glass of orange juice before Sam.

She would kill for a cup of dad's coffee right now.

"It sure is" Thurston acknowledged, sipping at his cup and turning the page of his paper, "bea-u-ti -ful" he spelled out.

"A day like this" Sam's mother continued, "should consist of pretty colors, like a nice sundress or a cute overall ensemble."

Sam's fingers twitched as she loaded a nearby bowl with cereal, dousing it with soy milk.

"It should" Thurston agreed, "you're a hundred percent correct dear" he turned his eyes to Sam expectantly, "don't you think Samantha?"

"It's Sam" she stated through a mouthful of cereal, spewing a bit of milk onto the counter. Her father grimaced and honestly it served him right.

"I also feel like it's a bit chilly" Sam smirked, "perfect weather for a hoodie combo."

She downed more cereal as her grandmother waggled a threatening finger at her son.

"Leave her alone boy, Sammy can dress however she wants, isn't that right Bubala?"

Sam leaned over to kiss her grandmother's cheek, beaming at her acceptance.

"Thanks grandma."

Thurston frowned, his wife stepping behind him with hands cocked on her hips.

"Mother-" he started.

"Don't you 'mother' me boy" Ida speared a bite of cooked sausage, "you heard me."

"You know Sammykins" Pamela began, ignoring her daughter's death glare, "you know who dresses so well, Paulina," she flourished the name with an exaggerated hand gesture and smiled wistfully.

"Agreed" Thurston nodded.

"Those cute pink crop tops, fetching capris, goodness she wears her hair long" Pamela smiled, she snatched her husband's coffee and sipped dreamily.

"Isn't she dating that Fuentes boy?" Ida rolled her eyes, "and you know, failed last semester, as Sammy put it."

"Fenton. Grandma." Sam confirmed, "his name is Danny Fenton."

"Fenton" Sam's mother's eyes widened, ignoring her mother-in-law as she usually tried to, "as in the son of those two crazy rich, ghost-hunting weirdos?!" She clapped her hands in excitement.

"Wait who?" Thurston questioned, looking up at his wife, "never heard of them."

"Yes, you have dear!" Pamela clapped her hands again, "they never come to our barbecues or social parties or any normal gathering whatsoever. They ignore all our invitations and they created the trademark ghost weapons that they sell to the GIW! They're heroes and filthy rich!" She cooed with delight as she sprung around the room.

Sam gaped at her mother's antics, cereal spoon halfway to her lips, eyes wide with confusion.

"Sammy, you didn't tell me you knew their son?!"

"I don't." Sam halted the dancing around, "Danny is an A-lister, so is Paulina, she's curvy, foreign and popular, so she's dating Danny, the whole school knows. Not just me. I can't stand either of them, we've never even talked to each other."

"You must." Pamela demanded. "Just knowing an elite can't do much for you, let him know your alive silly girl" her mother berated.

She flipped her hair and clapped her hands like a seal for about the twelfth time when the wall clock chimed. Pamela startled, acknowledging the time and dashing around to collect her things.

"Oh no! I'm about to be late to being fashionably late!" She ran around the room snatching her things. "We'll talk more about how to get boys to notice you when you get home from school."

"No. We won't." Sam ended, but her mother didn't hear a word, she kissed Thurston's cheek, earning a small smile in return from her husband, waved goodbye to her mother-in-law, and dashed for the door.

"Mom wait!" Sam cried, following her to the door where Pamela was trying to shove her feet into dainty high heels. The color of coral. Retch.

"What is it Sammykins I have to go."

"Sam. My name is Sam" Sam declared, ignoring her mother's eye roll.

"I can't find my backpack. Do you have anything I can borrow to put my stuff in for the day? I'll go looking for it after school."

Pamela blinked at her, before smiling. "I have just the thing!"

.

.

Sam couldn't remember a time she regretted something more than she did now.

The bag her mother found her was not really a 'bag' at all. It was an over the shoulder beach bag look alike. It was bright yellow, with hideous dark pink flowers strewn all over it. It buckled in the center, and made Sam look like she didn't know what a color scheme really was.

Her mother blew her a kiss, darted to the pickup limousine driver (because she didn't want to walk the two blocks to the neighbor's house for tea), and sped off, leaving Sam standing in her wake, engine fumes trailing behind them.

"I can't wait to get this day over with" Sam muttered, pushing the bag up, and starting her walk to school.

There were five blocks to Tucker's house where she'd meet her best friend outside as usual, ready for the bags ridicule in her head, and then another eight for them to walk together to school.

She kept a steady pace as she walked, when suddenly the obnoxious sound of an environmental nightmare roared through her head.

She halted to a stop, turning to witness a sight she really never had wanted to witness in the first place.

Mind you, Danny James Fenton is gorgeous. The sixteen-year-old had baby blue eyes, ebony dark hair and this stupid crooked smile that seriously got on Sam's nerves on a good day. When he got nervous or embarrassed he did this stupid thing where he rubbed the back of his neck, and if she didn't despise the air he breathed, Sam might even say it was charming.

He roared beside her on a contraption that had to be a motorcycle, but it was the most pimped out motorcycle she had ever seen. It had the basic structure of a motorcycle, but it was silver and green, with headlights the color of moss. The name 'Fenton' was logoed on the side, it looked like it had a killer engine. The thing was a two-seater too. Barf.

Danny kicked the bike stand down and whipped his sunglasses off, his eyes taking Sam in in a way that made her want to cover herself and crawl in a deep hole.

"Can I help you?" She sneered, using a brave tone to help stop the nervous shakes her vocal cords really wanted to do.

Danny smirked. One of those annoying, 'I'm way better than you and you and I know it,' smirks.

"Hey goth freak" he leered back, "nice bag, your mommy get that for you?"

Sam felt her hand clench around the strap, the urge to slap him with it growing stronger every second he inhaled.

"Yes actually," she bit back, "she managed to get it from your dad's closet."

Danny's eyes narrowed, "the fuck you say?"

Sam knew she shouldn't have but she was starting to feel that kick of adrenaline again and her foot in mouth syndrome kicked in.

"You heard me jock head, and watch your mouth."

The dark-hair boy turned his gas guzzler off and hopped onto the curb, looming over Sam and causing her to take a step back.

Right In her face, he grinned, "I could watch my mouth" he ran his finger down her arm, and a chill rushed through her "or" he paused with a wicked smile, "you could watch it for me."

He grabbed the bag off her shoulder, dumped the contents onto the ground, and chucked the bag into a puddle next to the curb.

Without hesitation, he jumped back onto his bike, turned it on, revved his engine, and as he sped off, shouted over his shoulder, "later goth freak!"

Sam screamed in rage, running after the bike, "you meat-headed idiot! You jock wearing jerk-face!"

She stopped, red faced and panting. Danny's laughter was all that was left in his wake as he sped off to school.

Sam was prone to lying to her parents.

What teenager hadn't in any case?

When she said she didn't know Danny she was doing it again. The boy tormented her more often than Paulina and her posy did. All because of her goth...iness.

Ever since they first met in sixth grade, and she had slammed into him, spilling her pudding cup all over his new shirt, he had been out to get her and exact a good five years of revenge. Guy didn't let go of grudges easily enough that's for sure.

She couldn't tell her parents, even though they thought her a disgrace for her choices, if her dad knew a boy was out to get her, he'd been on him in a heartbeat, and that would only worsen her case.

No thanks, she got enough of it on a daily basis.

Grabbing at her scattered things, she picked up her slightly soaked bag. It looked like just the bottom of it had taken the wetness, and she couldn't help not feeling saddened about that since she was planning to ruin it later herself if her mom forced her to keep it.

The downside of the whole thing, was that her gym clothes had gotten dirty hitting the ground, and her term paper was EVERYWHERE.

Great, another explanation to Lancer about why he kept receiving gross hand ins from just Manson herself.

Sam took off again in the direction that knuckle-headed jerk had, and wished for once, spiders had truly consumed her, and a hole of them would just open up, and let her slip to the bottom.

.

.

"Niceeeee" Tucker mused, stepping out of his front door, bag over his shoulder and an amused look on his face at the sight of Sam and her soaked flowery eyesore.

"Not a word" she growled out, clutching the monstrosity to her chest.

Tucker chuckled, "not one I swear" he took Sam's things from her and placed them in his own bag and let her carry the dripping mess on her own as they took off to school.

"Trouble with Fenton again I'm assuming?"

"One pudding cup, just one, and he can't let it go" she growled, "why is he so angry all the time?"

They synced their walk and Tucker laid a finger to his chin in thought, "it's probably the whole social thing. I mean, son of two geniuses, super crazy rich, athletic star, A-lister, guy probably keeps an agenda of some kind just to get through the day."

"Not to mention dealing with an air-headed Latina 24/7" Sam muttered.

"Which reminds me!" Tucker cried excitedly, "Paulina gave me an invitation to her upcoming pool party for doing her algebra homework" he ignored Sam's look "I know, I know, but this could be our ticket!"

"I don't want a ticket" Sam stated, "I don't need to be invited to some stupid party to feel special. I'm okay with the just the two of us, hanging in cemetery's, being outcasts together. Besides it's September, it's too cold for a pool party anyway. Plus. I'm not going."

Tucker looked down at the ground, making sure Sam couldn't see his disappointment. "Right, speaking of which, should we talk about last night? Did you sleep ok, I mean I was tossing all night, what was that thing?"

They made it to the school with five minutes to spare and Sam went to grab her stuff from his bag, "I slept fine" she replied, "better than I have in weeks, I'm sorry you didn't, but I'd rather not talk about that ordeal. Come on, English first."

Tucker nodded as he followed after her, "maybe I wanted to talk about it" he muttered, but Sam was too far ahead to hear him.

.

.

"I have exciting news everybody!" Mr. Lancer was Casper High's resident English teacher, who occasionally taught History when Miss Levi was sick. Which was a lot. So, they saw Lancer more times than they tended to see their own parents.

"This is Agent K" Lancer pointed to a tall Caucasian bald man with a device in his ear and a scowl on his face, "and this is Agent O" Lancer pointed beside K to an African American man with a device in his ear and an even bigger scowl, if that was even possible.

"They are two of the top agents at the Guys in White facility. As most of you know, the G.I.W. keep Amity Park, safe! From any and all spectral anomalies, including the Bermuda Triangle."

"The Bermuda Triangle isn't a ghostly anomaly" Nathan, the red-haired band geek piped up from the back, and both Agents burned him with their eyes, "my dad says it's just weather patterns and natural causes like landmarks that cause ships to go down."

Agent O glared him down until Nathan sunk in his seat, "is your dad a part of the G.I.W and has this knowledge from factual data banks?"

"Um...no, he's the weather man on Channel 8"

"Nobody watches that channel." Agent K stated. "Today you'll be learning about ghosts and spectral anomalies. Thanks to Agents R and M at the G.I.W headquarters facility. They've prepared a tour to teach you kids what we do and how we do it."

Agent O smirked, "if you didn't believe in ghosts before today, you'll be a believer now."

Lancer went on to explain how the groups were set up and a went into a bit more detail, before he started calling out team names for the buses.

Sam sat in her desk, looking the agents over cautiously, her mind in a jumble. Ghosts? Like the old cartoon TV show people tended to assume Casper High was named after? Or like whatever had chased her and Tucker down last night, in the seemingly empty cemetery. Either way, a bad, unexplainable feeling crept over her, like the chill Danny had given her, like the fear instilled after the creature chased them down, something didn't feel right. What was it that had her on her toes?

"Manson" Sam was woken from her thinking, Lancer pointing to her and then Tucker, and then, lo and behold, Danny Fenton, leaning casually in his seat, barely paying any attention to the task at hand.

When your dad donates thousands to the school every year, Sam supposed, you could slack as much as you wanted.

"You'll be a team on the third bus as well" and then, Lancer pointed to the next, but Sam tuned him out to glance at Danny.

He was chewing on his pencil, twirling it between his lips, when he looked up and caught Sam staring at his mouth, he gave a wicked grin and flicked his tongue out at the eraser.

Sam's face went beet red and she whipped back in her seat to gather her things, pop them in Tucker's backpack and follow him and the rest of the class to the prescheduled buses waiting outside.

What a jerk.

.

.

"Welcome everyone, to the Guys in White headquarters of Amity Park. In every state of America, there is an exact location, with an exact structure, standing tall and proud. This however, is our main data bank holder, base and home to our finest agents, as Amity Park is the world largest ghost capital."

Agent R pressed a button on a small hand held remote and the projector slide turned to a comically drawn, green cartoon ghost, mouth open with what had to be a scream, the large printed 'THE END' finishing off the small presentation.

Agent M stepped forward and gestured everyone to follow, the kids' groups splitting off per designated tour agent.

"Why did everyone get one agent, and we're stuck with the bald twins" Tucker whispered to Sam, his hand bent to cover his mouth. Agent K and O paused their steps, making Tucker bump into Agent O, Danny into Tucker and Sam, straight into Danny. Her chest pressed against his back, arms coming up to help herself.

"Sorry" she muttered, as Danny raised an eyebrow at her, a small smirk on his lips, "for what? I didn't feel anything."

Sam's face turned red with anger, ready to tell him off, only to notice Tucker gaping at Agent O as he loomed over the smaller boy.

"Do you have a problem with us? We'd be happy to rectify any issues."

The way his tone went, had even Danny frowning, Sam behind him glaring at the agents.

"There's no problem" she answered for Tucker, who appeared too scared to speak, "we'd be happy for tour guides. Someone could get lost in here."

Her voice echoed off the large walls and the two agents stepped back.

"That would be unfortunate." Agent K stated, before turning away and matching strides with his partner, leading the trio down tunnels, through finger-printing door, eye scans, and a weird voice activated mechanism that allowed them entry to a large room with many beakers, tubes and something containing a creepy looking green slime.

"This is ectoplasm" Agent O said. He picked up the beaker and turned it left and right.

"Ectoplasm makes up the core of a ghost. Without one, they're doomed to fall apart. Here we have a sample of said ghost."

The teens looked in, and hauntingly enough, it felt like a pair of eyes looked back.

Sam stepped back and swallowed a lump in her throat, the same, unfamiliar, creepy feeling upon her.

"How did you get that sample?" Danny's voice made everyone jump. The room had become deathly quiet. "I don't believe my parents gave you a machine that could do that." He crossed his arms expectantly and stared the two grown men down. "You guys been experimenting without them?"

Agent K gave a smile that gave Sam a chill through her spine. Like a predator scoping out his meal.

"Nothing like that. We just had an experiment that didn't cooperate. Now that experiment is a sample." The man grinned again and then shooed them towards the very back of the room.

A chamber, resembling an escape pod was fastened into the wall. It had blinking green and yellow lights. A small window to see inside and out, and a latch, with titanium bolts to keep whatever was inside, inside. Agent O pressed a button on the side of the chamber and it lit up like a Christmas tree. A mechanized whirring noise filled the room, and then a small beep, and then the latch unhinged, and the door swung open.

The chamber let out a hiss of steam, and then it was silent.

Agent O flicked a switch and the chamber turned off and began to cool.

"You can look if you want" the agent confirmed, as Sam stepped around Danny and Tucker and started to peer at the chamber, "it's a work in progress, so we'll try to keep this quick, there's nothing exciting happening at the moment, but as soon as it's done, it's main task is to create ghosts."

The kids looked up questioningly.

Tucker finally piped up, "you're going to make a ghost?! Doesn't that technically require...a dead person?"

"Not this time" Agent K replied, checking his white suit for any dirt or other such nonsense the G.I.W worried about on a regular basis.

"With this machine, we are going to stabilize and create a ghost core. From scratch. No killing required, and if that takes hours and hours of grueling work, so be it."

The two agents turned their back and stepped away to converse a bit on progress, which gave Sam the time to notice that the machine was humming, even though it wasn't supposed to be on. It was giving off a slight buzzing noise and then some kind of metallic click. She moved closer as Tucker chatted to Danny and Danny ignored them both in favor of staring down the G.I.W and their private conversation.

Neither boy noticed Sam creep closer to the machine, her hand lingering on the outside. She stepped her foot in, murmuring something, and then she tripped over a cable on the floor of the inside, her hand pressed a button, and the chamber door snapped shut.

From the inside, the machine had begun to spring to life, but without being properly turned on, it jolted out electricity. Then the door latch clicked locked again, and Sam was trapped inside.

The chamber steamed and all that could be heard was her screams as she was electrocuted alive. Energy and physical power coursing through her, watts and watts of violent electricity. She screamed again and again, pain coursing through her, nerves frying, her skin burning with the force.

Agent K was yelling something, slamming buttons and trying to make the chamber reopen. Danny was shouting, his arms waving frantically.

Who would have known he cared?

Tucker was almost screaming louder than she was, desperate yells for the men to open the chamber door.

She was being cooked alive.

That was the sensation. The feeling was death, consuming her, like spiders running over her and climbing into her mouth. Like landing in a lake and not being able to breathe as you slowly fell to the bottom. It was her soul leaving her body. It was back again and it just kept leaving and entering.

The electricity was killing her. She was dying.

Just as suddenly it was over, and she was falling, body slumping down the wall, her sweaty hand slapped the window as she went down. Streaks littered the once clean glass, her body hit the floor, and she passed out.

There was nothing more. Darkness.


	2. Chapter 2 - Caramel Apples are Gifts

_**Author's Note:**_ This chapter is heavy wording and dialogue. Main reason being setting up this scene (which was incredibly crucial and important) and because DP never did it. The only semblance of Danny's emotional turmoil is sprinkled lamely through a few episodes here and there, and his feelings and what he's gone through from an _electrocution_ are only touched in the opening theme. Did you know, 10-30% of people that suffer from an electric shock, whether lightning or generally based, die? I'm trying to keep this realistic.

 _..._

" _Monsters are real, and ghost are real too. They live inside us, and sometimes, they win." - Stephen King_

...

 **The Ersatz Ghost Girl**

 _Chapter 2_ – Caramel Apples are Gifts

...

 _When she was a younger girl, Sam was forced to do whatever her parents wanted._

 _Which was the way with most children, but to Sam, it was like a prison. Torture of the worst kind included._

 _Every day, her mother picked her out the ugliest, frilliest, most pink monstrosity's ever known to grace mankind. They were hideous. Sam was six years old. Sam wasn't allowed to say no. She was weak. Small. A_ _ **child**_ _._

 _Or that's what the adults said anyway._

 _Maybe it was one of the reasons for her anger. Her selfishness. Her mainstream need to be unlike anyone else. Perhaps all the mishaps with her family life before had led her to this. This subterfuge of despite and malice towards other girls. To those in particular who took pride and care and extra time with their appearance. Getting their eyeliner just right or spending eager moments of friendship debating over the latest vest or maxi dress at the mall._

 _Why did they do it?_

 _Sam wanted blacks and purples. Even deep greens and blues were appealing. Ivories and rustic colored ensembles and fabrics that brought even a sliver of light to her otherwise dreary childhood._

 _Where was the time where she didn't have to rely on her mother's clothing choices? Clothing choices that made Sam see red with rage when they were presented to her on a daily basis. Her mother wouldn't hear of any other clothing options. That's for sure._

 _It was as if she was asking to move to the moon by Tuesday._

 _One day, perhaps a Saturday morning, Sam's mother placed her in a large bright pink dress, with white lace, big puffy sleeves and a bottom that was too top heavy and scraped the floor when she walked._

 _Talk about barf material. She looked like a walking strawberry lollipop._

 _On this day, Sam's father was going fishing and Pamela requested he take their daughter to spend more time together, but also because she had a fancy lunch and wouldn't be there to care for the child either way._

 _Thurston lamented, and took his daughter out to the lake with him, popped her onto the side of the boat, as he hoisted up the cooler. Sam's dress leaned heavy and she fell, plummeting straight into the water with a scream._

 _As she sunk, she could make out the reflection of her father, yelling for her, ripping his jacket off and springing into the water. Still she sunk, slowly and slowly, small air bubbles leaving her mouth, and soon breathing was an action desperately needed. Her lungs gave way, and she inhaled water, and then she drowned._

 _Before her eyes slid close, for what she knew to be the final time, she could see her father, swimming hard against the water, reaching for her. Always reaching._

 _She couldn't remember if he made contact._

 **.**

 **.**

The hospital lights of Amity Park General were harsh, bright. They did their best to burn through her eyelids.

They left white spots dancing in her vision, and she hadn't even cracked open her eyes yet.

She could hear voices.

Some were desperate, some soothing. Familiar. Entirely too loud.

Just like when she had drowned as a child, Sam couldn't remember if anyone had gotten to her. If they had saved her. Was she dead? Was this the afterlife? Her first complaint to the guy with the book was going to be their use of fluorescent bulbs and how environmentally _un_ friendly they really were. Also, how bright and painful. Her second? She was just too young.

Couldn't they wait a few more years before she had to push open those big, pearly gates?

" _The doctor says she'll wake up on her own time."_

" _We've done all we can Mr. and Mrs. Man-"_

" _Do more_ _ **.**_ _Try harder!"_

Too loud.

" _You have to understand. We don't have all the equipment. Most of it was left with North Mercy. There's internal burns with this kind of electric power. We're understaffed as it is….."_

" _That's our daughter lying in that bed! How much money do you want to fix this?!"_

" _Pam. Please. Enough. The doctor….the doctor is trying."_

Please. Stop. Stop talking. Voices like jagged knives.

Her head was pounding. Where was she? Who were they? Too _loud._

" _It's up to your daughter now. Bandages. Ointment, creams. Healing surgery. We've done it all. All that medical science has to offer. The nerves were fried, we still don't know if she can use them. I'm sorry. We're so tired. I'll give you some time with her…while I check on another patient. We don't get many cases with electrocution damages this bad…."_

The door slams. It echoes. It's too god forsakenly _loud._ There's a shrill cry in the air. Knives again. Sharp. Entirely too much.

" _Thurston!"_

Weeping. Loud, obnoxious, entirely too real _weeping_.

" _What do we do?...My baby girl….."_

Loud. Obnoxious. Sobbing. Weeping. Crying. Screaming

Unintelligible…...Unintelligible….Untelgble….. _Unintelg…..Unteble…Unble…_

 **.**

 **.**

 _Passed out, she dreams._

 _A memory._

 _Not a good one, but an interesting one. A damaging one._

 _She's in the sixth grade. Her hair is in tight pigtails. For once, her outfit was chosen specifically by herself, thanks to her grandmother. Yelling at her son and daughter-in-law is common for Ida, but this time, she's scary. Yelling harsher than usual. Backing Pamela away from her son. Moving into the space, taking over, being a mother. There's nothing to grab to shake at him, threaten him with._

" _Let my Sammy wear what she wants!" Who else could get away with that nickname? It works._

 _Sam goes to school relatively happy. She doesn't have friends, but she finally has her say._

 _That's plenty good too. A lavender purple t-shirt is the outcome. Blue overalls with large plastic buttons to hold them up. They're sewn in. They don't actually work. It's a statement. A plastic barrette shaped like a bunch of grapes holds her hair to the side. Her favorite outfit from that year. Only worn once. Sixth grade._

 _She had a new notebook. Scented markers she spent the whole previous night making sure she liked the scent of and could distinguish each one from the packet. They smelled like fruits and fit perfectly in the brand-new backpack her mother let her get in a dark plum-like color, as a gift for making it to the next grade._

 _After math, the teacher declared lunch. Sam happily grabbed her lunchbox and made to go outside. A spot next to her favorite, shady tree. Quiet. Surreal. She didn't watch where she was going, her mind on her peanut butter and jelly. She pre-opened her chocolate pudding cup. She slammed into another student. Her pudding cup erupted, splashing his white and red t-shirt, covering a bit of his chin, smashing to the ground, leaving Sam and a few other kids gaping in astonishment._

 _The kid she doused with her pudding cup, was just as alarmed. His once spotless shirt was a spattered painting of food. His cheeks were swelled red with shame, and suddenly, like a pack of braying hyenas, the kids began to laugh._

 _Harsh. Jarring laughs, that shamed the poor kid more._

 _Sam couldn't contain it any longer._

" _I'm sorry! Oh, my goodness I'm so sorry, are you okay?! I'm sorry!"_

" _You said that." The boy gritted out, his hands clenched in his shirt, keeping the sticky mess form touching his skin, "can you not say anything else?"_

 _Sam's face burned darker if that was possible._

" _I just -…I'm sorry" she finished lamely._

" _I got that" the kid said, "are you paying for my new shirt loser?"_

" _Excuse me?" her eyes were almost bulging out of her head._

" _You sprayed your food all over me, you keep apologizing" the kid backed her up to the swing set with a pointed finger, his body shading the sun from her as she stared up at him, "but a fat lot that's going to do. My mom spent $100 bucks at the store for this."_

 _Sam gaped like an open-mouthed fish as he raised an eyebrow at her._

" _So? How are you going to repay me?" The boy crossed his arms, but before she could think up an answer, a girl, with long wavy hair gestured the boy over to her picnic table._

" _Danny!" she shouted, accent heavy, waving a sandwich, "stop hanging with that loser and come eat with me!"_

 _The boy – Danny – schooled his hatred, and without another glance back at her, walked over to Sam's main tormentor since first grade. He sat down, the kids looked away, back to their food and tasks at hand, and Sam was alone._

 _Her spotlight, thankfully, gone for the moment._

 _Though she confirmed she loved being an outcast, it hurt to think there was a difference between when she wanted to be eft alone, and when she was just plain lonely. She didn't want to be the freak, she wanted friends, every kid did._

 _Why wouldn't they let her dream?_

 **.**

 **.**

When she awoke, all she could think about was why. Why had she had that specific dream? Was it because of her recent run in with Danny? Or because she had had the thought at all. As fleeting as it was.

Machines beeped beside her. She could see an IV propped above her, feeding her vitamins and food or whatever she needed to keep her running while she slept. Ironic.

She couldn't move her arms, someone must have strapped them down. Tossing and turning probably opened wounds. Doctors were here. Hospital. That's where. She was tired, so tired.

Sleep came quickly.

She dreamed. It was satin sheets. They engulfed her body, swallowed her like cream and flung her around like a rag doll.

They brutalized her body, and her pale complexion released bruises, yellow, green, brown, blue, all the colors of the rainbow marked her once porcelain skin. The sheets turned into twisted rope, they wrapped around her neck and tightened till she choked and breathing was impossible and then they released her and formed rain and doused her. The rain burned like acid, fire, all the chemicals that you shouldn't come in contact with poured onto her skin.

She was ugly. Small. Frail. Weak. Just like they told her. She had grown to be a monster.

She was a monster.

The sheets spilled like a waterfall around her body until they disappeared all together. When she awoke, she woke to buzzing, and voices speaking louder than they should. Her arms still wouldn't move, and her eyes stayed shut, and she feared she would never open them again.

Someone, a nurse perhaps, rested a cool cloth on her forehead, then checked the dripping IV and scurried off to do something else.

The voices soon stopped, and Sam was alone. Always alone.

Her heart monitor beeped steady. Her blood pressure stayed the same. Her door didn't open again, and she was asleep.

She didn't dream. Not this time. She slept through the dark and the visions. She slept through the voices and the nightmares, and when she reopened her eyes again, she released a croak from her lips.

Her mother rushed to her side, smoothed her matted her and pressed a kiss to her cheek.

"It's okay Sammy, it's alright, mommy's here." Sam couldn't move her lips. She grunted, desperate.

"What do you need sweetie?" Her mother's eyebrows furrowed as her daughter grunted, "water? Do you want some water?"

Sam groaned again, and Pamela rushed to fill a small plastic cup with tap water from the small adjacent bathroom. She parted Sam's lips for her and proceeded to pour the water down Sam's throat.

The cool water healed the soreness and quenched the dryness from her terrified, painful screams. She finished the cup, and Pamela rushed to refill it three times before Sam was satisfied.

"M-m-mom" and she winced at the sound of her throat. It was damaged. A lot more than she had thought it would be. Screaming at the top of your lungs for what felt like hours could do that. It appeared she had screamed herself hoarse.

"Don't speak honey" Pamela encouraged, "it's okay, I'll explain _everything_."

She settled Sam back, fluffing her pillow, smiling reassuringly.

"You had an accident sweetie, at the facility your overweight balding teacher took you to."

In the Guys in White headquarters, Sam remembered. It had come back like a spiteful flashback. The chamber-like machine. Her stepping through. Pain, then nothing. She could remember nothing else.

"You were electrocuted honey. It was terrible" Pamela stopped to dab her tears with a handkerchief she produced from her dress pocket, "your body couldn't handle it and you passed put." Oh, dear god. She was wailing. "You were burned over forty percent of your body; your tissues were damaged." She blew her nose and wept again as Sam lay silently in her bed.

Sam was bandaged neck to ankles. Her face and feet free, but the burns still pale yellow and present on the soles of her feet and in the arch of her right foot. She hadn't been strapped down by the doctors. Her nerves and tissue were damaged, unresponsive. She was to the point of paralyzation.

When the tears started, she couldn't get them to stop. She screwed her eyes shut and still the tears slid out and through her lashes, and down her cheeks, until they plopped to the scratchy hospital blanket.

She cried for what felt like days, with her mother in and out of the room every few hours, only able to bear so much time before her crying daughter.

Sam had only cried publically twice. Once, when her cousin had broken her leg, and Sam thought she was going to get in trouble for it, and the second, when they had checked in her grandmother to the same hospital, and were told cancer was more than likely before Sam hit twenty years old.

Then she had wailed like a baby.

By the time her father had come to see her, she had stopped crying, and any semblance of tears that had lingered were gone.

Her father wrapped his arms around her gingerly and held her, just like the morning of her near drowning.

His arms were warm. Safe. Like when she scraped her knee and he kissed and bandaged it for her. Comforting, like when he cried over her frail body when they lay her on the gurney and moved her through the hospital. Once again, he forgot his pride, his riches, his perfect wife and material needs, and he was just Sam's dad. Safe and comforting.

He held her to him until the doctor entered, followed by two sets of female nurses.

The doctor introduced himself as Roseblat and the one nurse with the coppery red hair declared she was the same one in and out for Sam's personal care. "As well as cold towels", she joked.

The other, taller lady, with dark wavy ringlets for hair and a pleasant smile, was her new physiotherapist. Her job was to make sure Sam walked once a day, moved and exercised until she could get back to even slightly normal levels of strength. It could take months, she admitted or a few solid years.

It was the price of Sam's foolish curiosity.

Perhaps if she had followed a small white rabbit in a petticoat even she could entertain her own actions, but truly, her curiosity had gotten the better of her. Here she was. There was no talking doorknob. No evil queen of hearts. Incidentally and irreversibly, no. White. Rabbit.

After more fawning all over her, excited chatter over her wakefulness and another hug and kiss each from her parents, the team exited to leave her to rest and Sam lay still with her eyes open.

She had for sure slept enough.

Electrocution had many side effects on people.

She had read an online article once, that stated that 500 to 1000 volts of electricity tended to cause internal burns.

All those stories of people struck by lightning, who ended up with what Tucker had referred to as scar tattoos. Scars in the shape of trees. Terrifying. Back, front, it truly didn't matter to mother nature.

Blast injuries, she read, _being thrown and suffering blunt force trauma._

Where had she truly differed with the other small fraction of people that just ended up dead because their bodies couldn't handle the shock?

It was preferred, she realized now, being dead. Excrementally over being a vegetable. It was unfair. It was cruel.

A real electrocution was worse than anyone could possibly imagine. It was a curious thing. It was like someone kicking you, and the initial impact was tough enough to deal with, but then there's a lingering of pain. A lingering of tingling, tiny volts, passing through your body. All your muscles spasm at once. The pain is immense, internal. Why did you make them kick you? Why did the pain have to cling? Why? Why? Why?

Why had it left her burned? Why had it left her in pain? Why had it left her a human mummy in a sterile hospital for who knows how long? _Why?_

It made her so angry. How could she have stepped into that stupid chamber so…so…..stupidly!? Her fingers clenched in her fury.

….

Wait…..

…..

Hold up.

….

Her fingers clenched.

Her sudden anger relented as she looked over at her hand. The left one was formed into a tight, pale little fist. Red around the knuckles from her use of force. She looked at her right hand and it was clenched the same.

The nurse….the one with the dark hair in ringlets….she had said it could take months to even years for Sam to do this. Just to clench her fist. So then…..how?

She focused her eyes on her right hand. Again, she imagined it open, her fingers spread out like a fan on the scratchy hospital blanket.

They opened like a newly blossomed flower. Slow and easy. As if they had never suffered thousands of volts of energy at any point.

She stared. Freaked out at her hands. They had never been damaged. That couldn't be true. Her mother said so herself, the damage was existential to her nerves and tissue and at least forty percent of her body. She should be resembling a human crater at this moment. No movement, no feeling, but a small twitch of her fingers caused her to feel the blanket.

It was scratchy. A grey fabric that felt like a handmade quilt of bendy straws.

Was that the only part of her that wasn't affected?

She moved her hand again, and then slowly began to circle her wrist around. It swiveled easily.

Then she moved up her arms. Her left arm lifted, but it took quite a bit of energy so she set it down.

She lay there for another ten minutes before she tried again with the other arm. It too lifted, as easily as the other had.

Maybe her upper area had been saved. There were stories where doctors had been wrong so extremely before. People walking that should have never walked again, moms with children who shouldn't have been able to get pregnant.

Then she grew worried. Was she imagining it all?

Sam lifted both arms and clenched and unclenched her hands multiple times, until finally, at last, she was satisfied.

She reached one arm across to the other and squeezed the bicep before repeating it the other way. She waved, she high-fived herself, then she locked her fingers and stretched her arms nice and high.

Nothing. No pain. In fact, her torso and belly had done the natural thing when she stretched, and had arched and risen with her, as easy as a morning stretch.

Freaked out was putting it lightly.

She lay in bed a bit longer, and then she began to peel the bandages from her arms, wrists and hands. Where burn marks should have covered them, there was nothing but smooth, creamy colored skin.

Flawless. Like when she had awoken yesterday.

She shouldn't have healed this fast. No human being possibly could have.

Her eyes landed on her legs and she squinted suspiciously. Taking her time, carefully, ever so carefully she thought about her foot squeezing in on itself, her toes curling. Evidently, that one scene from 'Kill Bill" that she loved came to mind too, but she shook that thought from her head and focused again on her foot.

She squeezed it again, and felt the pads of her toes brush the bandages that covered them, grazing steadily again as she released the tension. She repeated it twice with both feet, and then she lifted her legs. Easily. No strain, no damage. As if it had never happened.

Mind on hyper speed, she ignored her conscience and sat up. Her body not making an ounce of protest. Had they all been trapped in some hallucinate dream at the exact same time? Was that even possible?

The blanket was moved off, away from entangling her feet, and then she proceeded to unwrap her legs and torso of bandages.

Healed. Completely.

Everything was gone. No scratch or burn or damage to be seen.

Now staggering to the bathroom took effort as she was weak and hibernating for who knows how long, but she made it after she knocked over a bedpan and nearly tripped over her IV cord.

The adjacent bathroom was tiny. One toilet. One sink with attached mirror and hand soap. A barely filled toilet paper roll. A small, Cookie Monster themed garbage can. Sam ran the tap and splashed her face with cold water, straining to keep her arms up long enough to scrub at her cheeks, cleansing her face after so many days. She chanced the moment to glace up and take a good look at herself.

A pair of bright, glowing amber eyes stared back at her.

She screamed.

 **.**

 **.**

Surprisingly, none had heard her. The running water must have drowned out a good bit of it. She had tripped, knocking herself out on the toilet as she fell, her body laying splayed out on the floor.

What kind of hospital was this that none came checking on their patients routinely enough that they couldn't find her passed out cold on the floor? Didn't they need to bring her food and medicine and stuff?

Or maybe, just maybe, they thought she wanted time to herself to come to the realization that she no longer, technically, needed to come to. Sam was far from ok by any means, but she was….

On shaky legs, she stood as slowly as she could, gripping the toilet bowl with a grimace.

Strained, she moved before the mirror. When she cracked her eyes open, a pair of purple orbs gazed back.

Sam breathed a sigh of relief. A previous trick of the mind in all the calamity, that was all.

Then they flashed amber, and she shrieked again.

The amber faded back to normal, but there was no mistaking it, they had been amber. A completely different color to her own natural ones. A glowing, almost fire-like, amber.

The kind of eyes that might keep kids up at night.

They were her eyes now.

She quaked. The gown indecently spilled down her shoulder a fraction and she furiously wiped at her escaped tears before she shoved the clothing back up into place.

There was clearly something wrong with her. Something….

Sam looked down at her hands when she felt a lightness. They were gone. To her horror, the gown still covered her upper arms, but above that there was no sign of her upper limbs.

Before she could release another fearful cry, they popped back into view. In all their pale glory.

She stared wonderstruck at their work. Invisible and then back in an instant.

"H-h-how-" she slapped one of her arms with the other and there it was, still there physically, but without a doubt, for barely a few seconds, her arms had disappeared.

Her mind raced with every possible scenario and then through all the impossible ones as well. The only thing drastic enough to do this, to change her like this, would have to be what her mother had said had cause all this in the first place. The chamber at the GIW facility. The ecto-chamber the agents had shown them that was supposed to create artificial life, _spectral_ life.

The one she had foolishly tripped into.

Wait. _Spectral_. As in paranormal? As in….what Amity Park was famous for. As in what the Guys In White happened to base their entire livelihood and jobs around. What kept bread and butter and loads of money in the Fenton Family's pockets. What filled the tour buses every year around October! _**GHOSTS.**_

Was she? She burst into laughter. No, it couldn't be.

"You're losing it Manson" she chuckled. "That's crazy."

She pushed the bangs from her forehead and stared into the mirror.

Except maybe it wasn't. Could it be possible, that the machine that was supposed to be creating a being from an ectoplasmic core made from scratch, had been at the same time killing her through electric shock, but also healing her at the same time? Maybe the G.I.W weren't crazy bad guys? Had they figured out something even science itself couldn't come up with?

There was no other factual reason coming up for her eyes glowing a color she wasn't born with or even glowing for that matter. Her limbs turning…invisible? They were possibly just after effects from the machine. Weird things always happened in this town.

Sam gazed into the mirror once more, and her regular reflection gazed back.

Suddenly, as if by magic, a ring of white light flashed at her waist. It then split into two and moved in opposite directions of itself, down her body, and then proceeded to vanish at the end of her head and feet.

Three things terrified her all at once.

One: her hair had turned completely white. Not like her grandmother's, specked with gray in certain areas, and riddled with age, but completely white.

Two: her eyes were amber, and staying that way apparently.

Three: The once white gown, had changed with her body. Now a solid black.

This definitely answered her dilemma on whether or not the machine had caused irreversible side effects. Crisis or no crisis, she would rather none walk in on her like this.

Suddenly, high heels (definitely her mother's by the loud clacking sound they were producing) came clacking extra loudly in her general direction.

Sam ran to the bathroom.

She tugged at her hair in desperation, as if that might help any.

"Come on, come on! Change back! How do I change back?!"

Frantically, she closed her eyes and pictured her black hair, her purple eyes, the disgusting pattern of her off white and blue hospital gown.

She pictured herself human, and just as her mother opened the door, the bright rings formed once more, traveling the same as before, and turning her back into her normal self.

Sam stared down at herself in awe.

That answered the crazy, 'obviously something happened from the machine' thesis.

Pamela, dramatic and high strung as she was, gave a high-pitched shriek at the empty bed. Pamela then turned, caught eyes with Sam (who stood frozen in shock, her hospital gown slipping down her shoulder once more) and gave a higher, and louder scream then Sam had ever heard before in her fourteen years of life, and then proceeded to collapse to her knees, arms slack at her sides, looking like she had seen, ironically enough, a ghost.

"Mom" Sam mustered, arm up to reach for her, just as Pamela began to wail like a starving walrus.

"Sammy! Oh, Samantha! It's a miracle! My babyyyyyyy!" She dropped her face into her hands as she sobbed.

Sam walked forward hesitantly, scared one of her limbs may act up, but as soon as she was close enough, before she could rethink a thing, her mom grabbed her arms and pulled her down.

"A gift from god" she sobbed again as Sam wrapped her arms around her mother, "a miracle!" she finished with another heaping of crying to follow.

Sam sat there in awe, letting her mother make a scene, crying and wailing and letting tears douse her new $500 dress, watching as doctors and nurses and her dad came running in to take in the miracle girl who survived death.

Sam couldn't feel her mother's tears. She couldn't feel her father wrap his arms around her or hear him yell her name with happiness.

She was numb. But…..what was she now?

 **.**

 **.**

Tucker came in on Friday.

Right after school.

Non-family visits had started on the Monday, but the doctors had to do so many tests and experiments on the so called 'miracle girl,' he had to wait until the ok before he could even step in.

There was also the fact that he was deathly afraid of hospitals all together, really, ever since she had known him. So, when he could have come in on Wednesday or any other day really after that, the courage he had to muster up took until the Friday.

Tucker arrived blindfolded. Sam's personal nurse was directing him in with her hands on his shoulders, steering him around beds and trays.

She had a clearly annoyed expression on her face.

She dropped Tucker off, and with a click and a twist of her heels, she was back out the door to check on other patients.

Tucker let the fabric slip off after a moment, gazing up and catching eyes with his best friend.

Sam's eyes had large purple bags around them. Her face paler then normal if that was even possible. They seemed sunken. Too large for her petite facial features. Too sad.

Tucker broke, flinging himself forward, throwing his arms around her with a force unlike any other, burying his face into her shoulder.

Sam stared off for a moment, almost as if she didn't believe him there, then, ever so carefully, held him to her tightly.

They were quiet for a long time. Just silent and holding each other and listening to the harsh breathing that overwhelmed the room. Then, Tucker leaned back and let Sam see the globs of tears clouding his vision. His black hair was visible, beret falling off in the process of their hasty get together.

He wiped his eyes on his shirt and snuggled as she watched him silently.

"I-I-t-t-thought you we're d-d-dead" he shook out. "T-t-they weren't s-s-saying anything Sam. Just ex-" he stared at her, wrestling his thumbs for a moment as he tried to find the proper words for it. "They said they had done experiments."

Sam caught eyes with him, and she looked so forlorn even he mirrored the frown she produced.

"They did" her voice croaked out. After a few days, the hoarseness had slowly begun to retreat, but her vocal cords still ached a bit. "They did do experiments."

"They had no right!" Tucker cut in. "You had the right so say no, did you know that?!" He grabbed her hands and she looked down when she felt them shake. Leave it to Tucker to be more shaken up then she was.

"It was at my request." Sam spoke quietly.

Tucker froze.

"What?"

"I-I requested external experiments be performed before I saw you."

"External? Why just external? You didn't nee-"

"I did need to. I have so many questions. So many unanswered theories" Sam laughed bitterly. "I also needed to see you before I came to any kind of conclusion."

Tucker stared solemnly at her. His brow furrowed. "The accident. Sam, I don't understand?! Do you have a theory for why you survived what everyone is saying should have _destroyed_ you? All I've done is read tabloids, online conspiracy theories! People are going nuts!"

"Remind me" Sam interrupted his rant, " _please_ , what happened?"

"I heard it's foggy for you." Tucker pursed his lips. "After….you _know_ , the agents managed to get the door open, finally. Oh god Sam…." He had to stop to catch a shaky breath, "the smell hits first. It's burning flesh. There's no other smell like it. I can't forget it." He shakes his head like someone was pan frying it right then and there. "You slumped out, didn't fall, just bent over like you were asleep. Unconsciousness happens all the time in these cases. Your…..your _whole_ _body_ was red. Scarred, like someone threw you in a vat at the Nasty Burger."

Sam grimaced at the mental image.

"I'm sorry, there's no other way to explain it" Tucker mutters.

"The-the purpose of the chamber the G.I.W created, was to make life" Tucker goes on, " I saw a file on the way in to the facility. The chamber was created to hold a ghost. To form _ghosts_." He didn't miss the way she tensed. "A ghost. A spectral anomaly could withstand that kind of shock for a while. It's what was supposed to help the G.I.W create the core in the first place, the electrical currents that is. When a human enters…well it's kind of the same experience as if you had grabbed an electric fence and not let go. It was meant to harm."

Sam stared into his eyes and released a breath she hadn't realized was suffocating within her.

"It did do harm" she grits out.

"You _nuts_ girl?!" Tucker threw his hands up, "I thought you were _dead_! You should be! That electric shock should have sent you to high heaven!

" _...being thrown and suffering blunt force trauma"_ she thought. " _Is an effect that encompasses with lightning strikes. The only thing that stopped me was the chamber_.

"You look like you spent a whole week at the spa" Tucker said softly, " except for the giveaways, like the eye circles" he points out, "or the tired slump….and the hospital."

Sam noticed his cut off as he skewered her seemingly perfect appearance outwardly, his eyes burning her with their suspicion.

"You have no idea" Sam seethed, "what I've been THROUGH!" the shout startled him away from the bed. "I don't remember most of it Tucker! It only comes back to me in flashbacks, like, like triggers, or goddamn post traumatic SHIT! I woke up thinking I was-!"

She stopped abruptly and Tucker unshielded form beneath his arms.

"Thinking you were what?"

"Dead." She stated. Her eyes widening with thought. "I'm. Dead."

Tucker blinked owlishly. He peered over his shoulders frantically, looking around the room like a nurse would pop out from the bathroom with a camcorder and the Punk'd crew behind her.

"Sam." He took her hands in his. "I'm sorry I freaked out and scared you, and I'm so, so, _so incredibly sorry_ that this happened to you" he watched tears well in her eyes. "I'm also sorry I'm acting like a big baby. You know me and hospitals, and….and how else am I supposed to react when you're so badly _hurt_ I couldn't recognize you from a slop of meat if I _wanted_ to…..only to arrive with you sitting before me in perfect condition! Sam. I know this doesn't make sense, it shouldn't, you survived girl, you _lived_ , you're not _dead_."

Tucker took a deep breath. "The doctors did tests, Sam. They gave you a clean bill of health, they-"

"They didn't do intrusive tests." Sam cut off. "They didn't go beneath my skin. Didn't look at my DNA. Didn't make sure everything was ok internally. They don't have that equipment. The GIW do. The North Mercy does. The equipment's there. It's all there…"

"What are you talking about?"

"They looked at me Tucker. They looked all over. I'm healed from an accident that should have cost me my life, if not my ability to _function_. Only my feet kept substantial burn evidence. That makes it real. I can't walk for a few weeks. That's my punishment. I opened Pandora's box."

Tucker opened his mouth, but Sam wasn't done.

"They said my nerves were fried. My tissues damaged beyond repair. _Speculation_. From doctors who have always had that from all their electrocuted patients. No equipment to make sure. They couldn't. They said I was burned over forty percent of my body, but look!"

Sam slipped her gown down a bit past her collar bone and Tucker glimpsed awkwardly at the smooth expanse of creamy pale flesh.

Like a human china doll.

"There's….-t-there's another thing."

Tucker looked up from her throat and Sam swallowed heavily.

"I trust you with this" she stated. Her hands began to wring the sheets beneath them. Another moment to breathe in deeply and then her eyes shut tight, like she was in another world all together.

Then, as if in a movie or some sort of TV show, a ring of white light started at her waist, looped off into two and traveled up her small frame, disappearing at either end of her body.

Where his dark haired best friend used to be, was a girl with stark white hair and bright amber eyes, that vaguely reminded Tucker of a precious stone he chanced upon at the fair a while back when things still made relative sense.

Not daring to look up and see Tucker's face staring back at her, Sam stared at the ground, her shoulders shaking, the hospital gown now an inverted black color where once it had been that ugly off white.

Without hesitation, Tucker released a high-pitched, child-like scream of "DEMON!", fell back from the bed and dove under the frame with a shout of fear.

Sam was quick to follow, taking to the floor by her knees and wincing when her feet made contact. She began to desperately try and pry Tucker out, shouting his name impatiently.

"STOP IT TUCKER! It's me! It's me Sam, cut that out!" she shouted as Tucker slapped her hands away and cowered.

"Please! Take my money I won't fight!" Tucker yelled back.

" _Please Tucker_ " her voice quivered, and he suddenly stopped his retreat, letting her drag him out by his ankles, marveling when she did so with ease. Sam backed on her knees and freed him from his under-bed prison.

Her face was anguished, her mouth parted and hands shaking with her own fear.

"It's me Tucker. It's _me_. I-I-I-I'm a m-m-monster" she let tears drip down her face as she stuttered, "but it's still somehow me. I'm still Sam. The same girl who shared her sandwich with you when you forgot your lunch last week. The same girl who's really, _really_ scared right now. I'm scared Tucker. LOOK AT ME! You know me, nothing freaks me out usually, but guess what! This is a really messed up situation and I _need_ you."

Sam broke as she released him, burying her hands in her face and crying.

Tucker had never seen Sam cry.

"You're my best friend" she hiccupped, "and I need you right now. I'm alone and scared and I don't know what's happened to me-"

"G-g-ghost?"

Sam halted her rambles to stare up at him. "What?" she whispered.

Tucker moved forward cautiously to assess her eyes, shaky fingers picking up a strand of white hair and letting it fall back easily.

All a sudden part of her.

"T-t-there" he coughed into his shaking hand as he rubbed at his eyes to get a better, clearer look at her, "there might be an explanation. The most non-plausible, outright _ridiculous_ idea I can form before I start screaming again. Because believe me, the only thing keeping me from running is technically my fear and surprisingly enough, rational thought, but _…._ before I got here…..I was reading those online articles again. To pass time while I waited to come visit you. One of the articles was about…..like well paranormal stuff. Specifically…..ghosts."

"Ghosts" Sam repeated, not quite getting where he was going with this.

"Agent K and O said that the chamber you fell into…well it was supposed to create spectral life? It was meant to create a ghost core and basically, although weirdly, make a _dead_ person. Sam…you aren't dead….per say, but what if we surmised that you were maybe….half dead?"

Sam blinked at him…. "did I hit your head on the way out from the bed?"

"Roll with me" Tucker stated, "because I'm hardly believing myself and my own words at the moment, but….….how can you explain this? Can you uh…go back to your, well, normal self?"

Sam nodded, the beam of light turning her back and her same black hair and purple eyes greeting Tucker.

"I was uh…practicing whenever I was by myself. I was too freaked out that this would happen on its own again like the first time and I really didn't need that happening anywhere near or around my mother."

"That would put me on edge too. No offense, but that women…" Tucker agreed. "What else could it be?" he helped Sam to the bed and sat her down, seating himself beside her as she curled under the blankets for comfort.

"I mean, what am I thinking, it's absolutely _crazy_ right? Complete nonsense, I-" 

"No." Sam stopped him. "It's not that crazy. I was having the same thought a while ago. I read those articles too." She pointed to her phone on the side table. "I had to know how I survived what felt like being roasted alive. There were so many ideas about manipulation and mind control through computers and even this guy who swore his turtle could _talk_ to him about the paranormal...but almost all of them circled back to the ghost hypotheses."

Tucker nodded in agreement. "I'm having trouble wrapping my head around it fully, but what can we do? I think this may be…permanent? What the G.I.W were doing seems illegal to me. I've been checking facts and stories and all these people who swear they've been through possessions and hauntings. That's...well that's all my brain can come up with at the moment. Maybe not full ghost..." Tucker paused, "maybe like half or something?"

"Half ghost" Sam whispered. "Do you think it's possible?"

"I don't have any other inclination to what else it could be. Weirdly enough, it's Amity Park, right? Also, after the GIW and the whole accident, it might just be our best, and ironically, safest bet."

"I guess you're right..."

Do you maybe wanna do some tests of our own?"

"Huh?" Sam watched as Tucker moved to the light switch near the door. "Your eyes, when, well I'll refer to it as when you're in 'ghost mode' for now, go amber, they look like they should glow...maybe we'll start there. Ghosts usually have freaky glowing eyes, right?"

"Thanks Tuck" Sam rolled her eyes, "that makes me feel all gooey and warm on the inside."

"Here goes nothing" Tucker responded, flipping the switch, as Sam's amber eyes blared like a glowing, golden flame, just as Danny Fenton swung the door open.


	3. Sam and the Incredible Vanishing Act P1

**A.N** : I enjoy a good author's note in a fanfic. Gives a fanfic character, but really the only reason I'll further A.N. in my fics is if I have big news like this. Exciting stuff has happened but also sadness and I need some help.

I've started a page for The Ersatz Ghost Girl in the hopes of finding a few supporters for not only this fic, but myself in general and all future projects I create.

Link here: FantasyC

If for any reason that link doesn't work or show up on Ao3 or , please DM for it. This page will help me create new chapter for EGG and it's all described there so that I don't make this too lengthy an Author's Note. If you become a supporter/ you get access to epic reward tiers that will grow in awesome with the more support I end up getting! Things like adding your input to future chapters, creating villains and deciding who ends up getting together or what happens is all there for you to read over, enjoy, and decide if you would like to support me! We've come together as a community do well, saved Ao3 with ten times over what they request in donation! It's heartening to see. I want to thank anyone who even takes the time to use the link and check it over; my gratitude is immense, on with the fic!

…

" _The word "HAUNTED." I'm sure you know, usually applies to a house, graveyard, or supermarket that has ghosts living in it, but the word can also be used to describe people who have seen and heard such horrible things that they feel as if ghosts are living inside of them." – Lemony Snicket_

…

 **The Ersatz Ghost Girl**

 _Chapter 2_ – Sam and the Incredible Vanishing Act: Part 1

…

 _Previously_ : _Danny Fenton pushed the door open, Sam's glowing amber eyes like a lighthouse in a rainstorm. His mouth dropped in shock and…._

Tucker began to smash his finger into the light switch. On and off as fast as he could.

He then proceeded to rub harshly at his eyes, finally leaving the light switched on for the first time being.

"Oh man! Oh man! My eyes gotta be playing tricks on me! Anyone else having seizures from their eyes paying tricks on them?"

"No. But your little light show may mean I need to go looking into corrective lenses. You think you hit that switch enough times Sucker?"

"Uh….it's Tucker" the boy gestured awkwardly to the older teen.

"Is it?"

Sam appeared to have caught on to Tucker's little acting stunt, as she too began to rub at her own eyes, mimicking his previous actions. "Tell me about it" she paused to look up again, and her glowing eyes were back to normal in the artificial light of the room. "I think we were all being affected by those lights. Play of the rods and cones….you know?" she finished lamely.

" _Right_ " Danny replied, glancing around the small room.

There was a table. A tray with disgusting looking hospital food stood on a trolley by her bed, a window with a small ledge and an adjacent bathroom to finish the ensemble.

"Wait. Why are you here Fenton?"

"No first name basis _Manson"_ Danny smirked, "I'm hurt, truly."

"I'll alert the presses."

"For you information, I had some….business to take care of, and couldn't make it around the start of the visiting period, but, I'm here now."

" _Why_ " Sam stressed.

"Uh…she's still in recovery" Tucker tried to distill the situation, "maybe we could save any mean actions for-"

"These are for you."

Both Tucker and Sam stared shocked at a bouquet that popped out from behind Danny's back. About a dozen white daisies wrapped in purple cellophane and tied with a simple, lavender ribbon stared back at them.

He moved to her bed side and Sam accepted them with a look of alarm and intrigue.

"How did you-?"

"Your mother told me your guilty pleasure movie just so happens to be "You've Got Mail." He sat himself at the end of the bed while Tucker slowly sat in the one empty chair on the other side that every room came with.

"Also, every hospital has a gift shop" he peered at his nails with disinterest.

"Why are you here" Sam grit out, her hands tightening around the flowers, her eyes were flashing and Tucker soothed her with a hand on her shoulder, "to find out these things from a distraught women in a hospital cafeteria and spread them all over school? Make my life hell?"

"I don't think I can top what's already happened to you." Danny looked up, his face almost apologetic in its gaze. "It's already all over the Casper High Newsletter. Someone spread the story." He grinned at her, watching her rip the blankets off in a fury.

"YOU" she pointed her finger in his face, but he stared blankly back at her, "spread the damn story you asshole!"

"I'm assuming your grieving mother taught you it was polite to point? Watch your name calling" Danny remarked, folding his arms over his chest with a smug smile, "and no. Not me. I told the story to Paulina…and even told her to keep it a _secret_ in fact. You can't help it when your girlfriend has a big mouth." He winked at Tucker who grimaced. "She told her friend Star, who told it to Kwan, who sold it to the editor for a measly fifteen bucks."

Sam gaped at him.

"I _know_ right? I was shocked too. I mean, at least go for twenty, but….I guess not everyone thinks richer. It's a good thing he's a football player" Danny mocked offhandedly "I have a feeling he's not getting anywhere on his wits and personality."

"You BASTARD!" Sam yelled, her voice was still healing of course, and it cracked with the force of it, both Tucker and Danny winced. Danny took it upon himself to get up and off the bed, hands up in mock surrender.

"Listen freak, I didn't come here to mock you, _for once_ , I just came here to give you the flowers, and check to make sure all the Harry Potter references are true. _Girl Who Lived_. He sneered, "Quaint title for that piece of trash news article. What can you expect though, it's high school. Another reason I came here was to relay the truth to your barely grieving peers. Sam Manson survived the accident held by the G.I.W. Freak that you are, you're all over the news feed. Now I can let everyone know what they can expect come Monday. Thank the nurses for me" he mock saluted as he walked over to the door, "pretend to be a loved one and they tell you _anything you want_."

He closed the door behind him quickly, missing the thrown bouquet of flowers, as Sam smashed the daisies at the door. His laughter left the two remaining teens fuming with rage.

Tucker's fists clenched as he glared at the closed door. "Come Monday, can I _hit_ him for you?"

"You'll have to get in line behind me" Sam replied, "but as much of a…..jerk" she hissed out, "that he is, he's right Tucker, how am I supposed to face the kids at school? Monday is just a few days away. I'm already known as a social outcast, a goth _freak_ " her face contorted with the shaping of the word as she barely spit it out, "I have to face them. One way or another, I _have_ to."

"Yeah you're right" Tucker placed his hand on her shoulder and smiled reassuringly, "but you won't have to do it alone."

Sam smiled.

"You also won't be doing it on two legs" a voice piped up, the door creaking open as the nurse flounced into the room. "You can't walk on those burns missy, and your wheelchair is ready! I'm wishing you a happy back to school Samantha!"

"Oh. NO."

.

.

Monday morning at Casper High school proved to be as crazy as anyone could or would expect.

The cheerleaders were huddled and conversing loudly over a copy of the CH newsletter, band geeks and gaming nerds were clustered to discuss all their crazy conspiracies and ideas, and even a few of the school faculty was sitting in the teacher's lounge and discussing their thoughts on what could have transpired, and what was happening with Sam Manson.

The jocks on the other hand, specifically touch down extraordinaire Dash Baxter and his teammate Kwan Lee, were paying absolutely no mind to any of the ruckus going on around them.

Then Danny Fenton walked up casually, sporting his own Casper High football jersey, a large 'C' sewn into the pocket above his heart, grinning ear to ear as he walked.

Dash slammed his locker door shut, trying to not make a show of being bothered by the arrival of his competitor, who scored more touchdowns in a week then Dash ever could, watching with distaste as Danny and Kwan shared a familiar handshake.

"Well Fenton?" Dash said casually, crossing his arms.

"Well?" Danny smiled mischievously.

"What happened at the hospital, with that goth chick?"

"Yeah man" Kwan grinned, putting his hand to his mouth to force a decent whisper, "is she messed up? Scars and burns and shit? Slab of meat like you said? My younger sister once burned her hand on a stovetop and the skin got wrinkles."

"Eeeeeew" Dash scrunched up his nose, "was she a fucking prune dude?"

"Actually, no….she looked perfectly healthy."

"WHAT?!" the combined shout startled some girls who dropped their books and turned to glare at their group.

Danny smiled them along, before turning back to his teammates, "are you too capable of _keeping it down._ Dial it back a bit. You want the whole school to hear or do you want to keep this to yourselves?"

Kwan mimicked a key turning a lock with his fingers and mouth and Dash rolled his eyes. "Keep going."

"The whole story I told you was true. At the facility, the Guys in White's machine thing _destroyed_ her. She fell out unconscious and _dude,_ it was not pretty, you ever see your mom throw down hamburger meat in a frying pan?" Dash and Kwan shared a similar look of disgust. "They end up calling a bunch of other agents and then the head guy…..Agent R? I think my parents know him, he calls an ambulance, and they lay her on the gurney and wheel her out. Then they go running around the machine, almost like they're expecting something else to fall out after her. They called off all the tours, they shoved us out of there and that was it. She was electrocuted, so bad it was like a human falling into a deep fryer."

"Alright" Dash put his hand up in stop, " _please_ , I don't need any more visuals of that."

Danny leaned his back to the lockers, folding his arms over his chest as he peered over the faces of the small peer groups. "In the hospital, she looked like she woke up from a power nap. No burns on her body, the nurse said there were some on her feet still healing, none visible on her face, though it might have been an improvement" he smirked callously, "it was like it had never even happened."

"…..Freaky" Dash finally muttered, he and Kwan were hanging off every one of Danny's words, entrapped in the story like a couple of kids hearing a campfire tale.

"You think maybe the whole thing was staged?" Kwan asked.

"No" Danny opened his locker and pulled out his English textbook, "I don't think it was staged, because up until now, none but I and my parents have ever had the…. _pleasure_ ….of visiting the G.I.W facility. Usually all they have is weapons, samples, failed experiments. In fact, I've never actually seen them _use_ something bigger than an ecto-dart gun. This time, it was different, that was for certain. I think I'll talk to my mom about it, but I intend to get to the bottom of this. I'll research it later, let's get to class befo-"

The front doors of the school burst open, the cold, dark halls of Casper High suddenly hit with a full ray of sunshine dusting a path on the floor. A hush fell over the students, even the usual background noises that were so common to hear, fell silent.

The 'Girl Who Lived' was in a wheelchair. Tucker Foley, well known techno-geek and the girl's one and only friend was behind the wheels. His hands were turning white with the force of his grip on the chair handles, his face turning pale as he saw all the eyes staring judgingly at them.

Sam was decked out in a long-sleeved, dark purple shirt that fell to just below her waist. She had on long back skinny leggings, and her famous shin-shattering combat boots had been substituted for plain black sneakers and white socks. Tucker was wearing his usual yellow shirt and green cargo pants, his thick rimmed glasses perched on the edge of his nose, a red beret on his head and his usual brown boots lost behind the wheels of the wheelchair he was pushing Sam around in. Nothing had truly changed as shockingly as Sam's inability to walk.

The student body stared as Tucker started to wheel Sam forward, the wheels creaking with their movement, not letting them get away as inconspicuously as they wanted.

"You think if I grew my hair out and changed my clothing colors people might forget my name?" Tucker muttered softly, his breath fanning the back of Sam's exposed neck, making her shiver in disgust.

"Nobody's looking at you" she scowled, "just take me to English please, before these tiles change from beige to splattered vomit."

Danny eyed the two of them from behind the crowd of students gathering themselves and bursting with talk, his eyes squinted with suspicion, ignoring Dash and Kwan chattering excitedly beside him.

"I am _definitely_ getting to the bottom of this."

He slipped his book under his arm and followed the two outcasts to their English class, his eyes trained on Sam's irreversibly pale skin, not a mark or scar to be seen. Not one.

.

.

Mr. Lancer was Casper High's resident English teacher. He was also school spirit motivator and set up committee, lunch room supervisor, back hair champion 3 years running (something he wasn't about to reveal to the public just yet) and most recently, substitute play director and acting coach as Miss. Chesterfield had taken a tumble down the auditorium steps and broke her leg in three places.

The balding teacher passed around a 'get well' card for the class to sign, grinning as he wrote ' **Romeo** **and Juliet** ' on the board in a festive colored chalk.

"Many of you have auditioned for this year's school rendition of Romeo and Juliet by William Shakespeare, though of course the premise of true love causing pain and suicide isn't lost on many of you I'm sure" he stared down Danny and Paulina touching each other up in the back. The two parted awkwardly as Mr. Lancer pulled out the cast list. "Of course, William Shakespeare was not also the only man in existence to write about two lovers from different households, unable to be together and dying for each other in the end, in fact, many other directors and writers had done so before him. If he was just one man" he smiled jokingly, waiting for someone to catch on, but the students stared blankly back at him.

Lancer coughed awkwardly before addressing the group from the front. "As a majority of this class is the cast list, not including Mrs. Kindley, and Mr. Lucas' students who have also been informed of their roles and schedules, I will now read the parts and then the rehearsal times. Make sure you're available for at least the majority of them, if not, your part must go to the understudy, and if they are unable to make them as well, I will have the part given to someone else and their part taken over by you. Fair is fair."

"I'll start with our leads of course" Lancer cleared his throat, "the male lead of Romeo goes to….why am I not surprised?...Mr. Fenton."

The whole class began to cheer and clap, Dash slapped Danny's back with a big grin, Paulina squeezing his shoulder with excitement as she tittered over him.

Danny smiled charmingly as Lancer handed him a ready-made script from the large pile on his desk.

"Juliet" Lancer continued as Paulina began to fluff her hair and smile, "goes to…..Uh….Miss Manson."

The whole class whipped their heads around to stare at Sam.

The wheelchair wouldn't fully fit, so the chair sat in its place and Sam sat to the left of it, writing something on a piece of paper, leant over it awkwardly as she tried not to spend too much time leaning on her arm and smashing the edge of the desk into her armpit.

Sam let her lips curl up in a pleasant smile. "Me? Juliet?"

Tucker clapped happily, letting out a cheer, ready to start a crowd wave when Bailey, the basket-ball forward, rammed his elbow into Tucker's side and forced him to sit down and catch his breath.

"Maybe not" Tucker winced.

Mr. Lancer frowned as Sam made a reach for the script copy he was about to hand out.

"Um…..Miss Manson…due to….circumstances quite obviously out of your control", he made an awkward hand movement, "I don't see how you'll be able to-"

"He means you're a _cripple_!" Dash shouted out from the back as Danny burst into laughter, everyone else joining steadily as Mr. Lancer's face burned red.

"HOW DARE YOU!" Sam shouted, trying to spin her wheels around, only to be forced to twist her body and glare Dash down as he gave her an unimpressed look, "I shouldn't have to tell you how offensive that word is!" Her eyes glared all the students down until everyone was pretty much quiet, "and I am not _crippled_ " she spat out, as if sucking on a sour hard candy, "I was in an accident, my feet are _burned_ okay? I have to be in this wheelchair because I can't walk you large-headed OAF! Seriously can you hear me? Or do the muscles from your obese shoulders cover those miniscule ears up?"

Dash turned red, fists shaking as he went to open his mouth, but Sam ignored him in favor of turning to the flabbergasted teacher.

"Mr. Lancer, I don't think I have to remind you that discrimination and prejudice is wrong and illegal do I? Not to mention I'm only in this stupid thing for two weeks! The play isn't for another two months! I can still do my lines" her voice shook and rattled a scratchy ugly sound, making Lancer wince, "I can do those and then we can do blocking after, wheelchair or not. Surprisingly, with what you may believe, blocking isn't rocket science."

"It would have been better if you were dead." A cold voice broke.

Everyone turned with a mix of shock and horror as Paulina caught eyes with Sam. Sam lifted her middle finger and Mr. Lancer's mouth dropped. "Miss Manson!"

"Fuck you Paulina; hate has made you an ugly bitch."

"Don't talk to her like that _freak_ " Danny sneered, standing up and rolling his sleeve back as Paulina smiled, dancing behind him and pointing her fingers at Sam, mouthing "freak" all the while.

"THAT IS ENOUGH!" Lancer shouted, causing everyone to reel back in surprise, even Danny stepping back in alarm, bumping Paulina back into her seat, the side bar knocking into her and plopping her into the cool metal chair in an awkward display of limbs.

"What a disgrace" Lancer rubbed at his face, his eyes trained back to Sam who looked shaken up and on the verge of tears. Lancer had never witnessed the usually strong girl break like this. He had also never seen Mr. Fenton threaten a girl before. Dash Baxter however was old news. Paulina's father made sizable donations to the school…

"Alright Miss Manson you can be Juliet. You can rehearse lines on your own time, down to a T is satisfactory, so when you meet up for rehearsals there is no sidetracks. Then we'll do blocking afterwards, perhaps without the…chair. Everyone take out your textbooks and turn to chapter nine..."

.

.

Lunch had Sam in the girl's bathroom on the second floor.

After the classroom debacle, the last thing she wanted was to be around those assholes. She rolled into the bathroom, a shiver running down her spine. "Damn broken air conditioner."

She could hear the chatter of the students outside and her anger began to return. "I don't think so" she made sure the door shut fully, moving herself around the seat, careful not to press on her burns. She arched up to reach the lock and clicked it to the right. The sound echoed loudly in the bathroom.

Sam felt eyes staring at her protruding skin, the shirt lifted to reveal a small expanse of creamy flesh. She shifted uncomfortably, pulling the shirt down and turning back to face the bathroom. "Hello?" She smiled, laughing weakly, "get it together Manson, you're way too high strung."

Her scratchy voice didn't echo. It was as if it was swallowed by the air of the space. The air was incredibly musty. Sam coughed, like a mold had slid down her throat and soaked up all her moisture.

She looked over at the sinks and wheeled to them, turning the tap on and squeezing a generous amount of the generic soap into her palm. She began to scrub at her nails, rinsed, and then cupped her hands to gather as much as she could to drink. Her tap turned off so she hovered her hands beneath the faucet and the water took up again. It also took up in the third sink over.

Sam looked over, and the water stopped.

Was this a joke? She lifted herself slightly to get a better look at it. She could only see half of her face from her height in the mirror, but out of the corner of her eye she saw something dark move.

Quickly, she let her soapy hands grab the wheels to spin her around. Nothing. It was all silent again. All of it. Sam looked to the door, where the chatter of students had taken up most of the area previously, and now not even their footsteps could be heard. It was as if the whole upper floor was vacant. She could pick out the cracks in the wall. A drop of sweat fell down her back, following the lines of her shirt until she shifted a bit and it was caught in the fabric of clothing.

Sam stared at the closed doors of the bathroom stalls. Her wheels clicked in the silence of the room. She wheeled herself over carefully to the first one and peered underneath the door. Empty.

She peered under the second and it was empty too. She laughed softly.

Reaching the third she looked under. A pair of feet stared back at her.

Sam leaned back up. Her fist shook as she brought it up to the door. She knocked a bit too hard and the door swung open. Empty.

Sam laughed again. Shaky. Rough. It lifted into a high pitched cackle. "Time to go…..." Her eyes landed on the door, the lock, twisted to the right, mocked her. "Oh, right."

She pushed the wheels of her chair forward, her hands shaking, when she heard a sudden click. The wheels were no longer turning. The chair had stuck. Her chair was stuck. Sam cried out distraught, pushing violently at the wheels.

A thump sound, like a book falling, echoed in the room. The window had shut, from an impossible height that none but the janitor could ever reach.

Sam gripped the sides of her chair and lifted herself, shaking with effort. A cry escaped her. She stood on the outside arches of her feet. Waddling to the door, she groaned in pain, frantically looking behind her with every step. She tried to turn the lock, but her hands were too wet to get a good grip and panic began to set in. "HELP, HELP ME HELP ME, HELP ME! PLEeeeeaseeeee" Her cries turned into cracked sobs, "SOMEBODY! I'M IN HERE" She screamed in desperation, her fists banging aggressively on the door.

The farthest stall door banged open and Sam whipped around. Back pressed to the door, she quaked, but nothing came out of the stall.

"Hello!?"

" _Hello_ "

"This isn't funny." Sam trembled. She felt breath, sour like milk, hit hot at her neck.

" _I_ ' _m not trying to be funny_ "


End file.
